I can only imagine the days and nights that my friends had when they came into this world for me. Heather is a girly-girl and has the fashion sense of a runway model, but not for the outback. Nathan and Steve had some better luck, but they are city boys, not country wild men.
I think that it kinda went like this.
They were huddled around a little fire, cold and tired and lost. Like I had been.
Steve would be snarking on Heather. “If you had worn real shoes, not heels, you would not have twisted your ankle.”
“If I thought this was really happening, I would not have come.”
Nathan, the peace-maker of the group would have to get in between and say something like, “Will you two stop bickering? You sound married.”
“You watch your mouth! It was not my idea to use that thing.”
“I just thought it was a fancy digital picture frame or something. Between Tammi’s video and notes and the stuff you found, Nate-”
Then they would be frightened by the sound of a horse. Ilsin came up to them and said, “You look as lost as she did.”
Nathan was the one who had found the other necklace stashed in the table transporter thing. He put it on and now knew other languages, just like I had. The others kept interrupting him, trying to find out what Ilsin said, without time for them to really talk.
“Sir, are you talking about Tammi?”
He nodded. “I found her...” He crouched and looked into the small fire. “It isn’t safe out here at night. My camp is about an hour away. If you follow me, I can get you food and warmth.”
Nathan thanked Ilsin, but Heather balked. She did not know who he was, and I know how I was treated in the nomad’s camp. It took some convincing, but the three of them gathered up their stuff and followed. Ilsin said he even let Heather ride the horse because of her ankle.
****
The hall was big, but with the number of people in it, it really was not big enough. I have never been to a wedding before where the wedding party outnumbered the guests. Though, I didn’t even know who I was being forced to marry. Who we were being forced to marry.
I tried to sit lower as I thought to myself I had not planned on getting married this early. If at all.
I was in the middle of the room, rows of these little tables facing this head table. I think there were about forty girls around me, all in yellow. Some were dressed as I was, the fancy, tight fitting and exposed dresses. Some looked like they had been put into yellow dresses that had been worn before. Some had veils and head dresses, most did not.
I could see, and hear, the men at the head table we were facing. The King was an older, and bigger man. I watched in amazement as he ate and it seemed his beard was catching more than his teeth were.
They were surrounded by many, many men. Fancy dressed men like the one I had seen in the hall. Then there were servants, the red sash having gold trim on theirs as our servants had plain red. Sycophants who were paying attention to the head table, and each other. And then there were the guards looking menacing at either end of the table.
There were torches on the walls and candles on the tables. The tables that were along the walls seemed to have people who were there to observe. Including the man I had heard planning some sort of murder in the hall outside my little room.
I was eating off of a metal plate and had a wooden cup. The men seemed to have crystal and gold to eat from. I gritted my teeth and ate. It wasn’t bad. Some sort of chicken and wine thing. I just was getting into that when my attention was drawn back to the head table again.
The King had his finger in his mouth. Not sucking it like a baby. He was tying to pick something from between his teeth. And he was still talking.
“I had more brides on my wedding night. More of them paid off than sent brides to you.” He pulled his finger out and looked at it, wiping whatever he had dug out on his bright red tunic as he said, “At least we wont have to worry about grain this winter.”
I ate and watched the men at the head table. Many of the women around me were doing the same thing, to varying degrees. They all seemed to be focusing on the boy next to the King. He was dressed in this floppy hat that he kept pushing around to be able to see and he just didn’t look happy. His dark blue and yellow was a contrast to the King’s red. His grumpy face was also a contrast.
His eyes went around the room and I ducked down, looking at the feet that were under the table the women... that I was facing. The boy’s boots looked like he had hardly worn them with the shine that they had.
I looked back up and saw the Prince pushing the mound of food on his plate around. He mumbled, but I could catch, “-fair trade.”
“What was that?” The King turned a little towards the Boy Prince and I could see that there was little love between them.
I know I am using the term almost condescendingly, but really, he was a Boy Prince. He was younger than I am. He looked like one of the freshmen about to go to high school. The clothing, not just that stupid hat, was way too big for him and he looked like he was possibly wearing his big brother’s clothing. I wanted to ask one of the other, um, brides about them, but they all looked so scared. I don’t know what would have happened if I had started to try to talk with them about the royal family.
It would be like asking someone about the President’s family. Everyone should just know. You know?
The Prince looked like he was getting up his courage. He put down his eating knife and looked at the King to say, “Nothing, Father. I’m just not ready for this.” He made some sort of a motion with his hand I could almost see before he said, “It was so sudden.”
The King put down his tankard, one of three or four on the table in front of him, and gave the Prince a stare before saying, “I know it is a little rushed, but...” His beard had a few strokes on it before he looked around to the tables along the outside of the room that held more men. “With Jejune on our heels, I need you to have sons.”
The Prince looked tired. The kind of tired that comes with years of having the same conversation or dealing with the same situation over and over. A teen aged boy should not have this kind of pressure on him, but he did, and it looked to me like he had resigned himself to whatever his Father wanted him to do.
I did see a little spark of rebellion go through his face right before he said, “Do you even know which of your wives I came from?”
That made me stop eating. The girl next to me looked at me and then back down to her plate. I picked up the wooden cup and drank some of the sweet wine stuff that was in it. Much better than the milk beer, but still more alcohol than I had ever had in one sitting.
The King stroked his beard and said, “That doesn’t matter, my boy. What does matter is that you are of noble blood. My blood.” The King’s eye wandered for a moment, following one of the women servants that was refilling the drinks for the ranks of women. “If only I could sire another.” He focused back on the Prince and put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “You will do.”
The Prince did not seem happy, but he kept eating. He seemed to be looking at the women in front of him. His eye would go to one, pause and I sometimes saw little shakes of his head or little winces.
I took a careful look around. Most of the brides were teens, like the Prince and I. A few were barely ten or eleven. There were a few who looked like they were far into their twenties. And at least one who kept pulling her dress up a little to try to disguise that she was not fat, she was pregnant. I was not the skinniest, I was not the largest. It was kind of nice being mid range for everything. Even if I was being sold into marriage slavery.
His eye went to me and I did not look away. My hands went together, a covered fist reverence as I bowed my head a little. I saw surprise and then the tired look again. His eye went on and I picked at my food. I could feel the tension in the room. I looked a little more around, looking at the other women, and then at the other tables that were surrounding us. They looked all too...similar. The fashions were like any bad middle ages or fantasy barbarian movie I had ever seen. I think I understand where the tunics and stuff come from, as they looked easy to make. But the baggy ones just looked too much to me. Like the really big t-shirts and shorts or the big jeans that guys wear down around their thighs to show off their underwear.
I sighed and looked back up to the head table. I saw that the King was watching the Prince, too.
He leaned over to his son and I could see teeth in his smile, even with the distance and the beard in the way. “So, have you chosen which you will take first?”
The King laughed as his son sputtered out, “Father! I don’t know any of them. How can I pick if I-”
The King slapped his hand on the Prince’s shoulder and then pulled one of the tankards from the line on the table. He banged it down and called over his shoulder, “Maybe more wine will make the decision easier.” He waved his hand in the air and leaned back, knowing that his wishes were going to make the servants jump.
There was an other call from one of the servants with the gold and red sashes. “Wine for the Prince!”
That was when I saw him. The servant that had been talking to the fancy-dressed man in the hallway. He was cleaned up a little more, the gold and red sash replacing the plain one I had seen him with before. I saw the grim look on his face. I knew, if I was watching any sort of a movie or reading a story, that this was when and where they were going to assassinate the Prince.
I saw the large pitcher of wine in his hands. I heard the clank of metal against metal and knew that it was wrong. He was not wearing any jewelry, nothing metal on his rope belt. His eyes did not leave the Prince.
I reached for my knife. I pulled it from it’s sheath in my boot and held it under the table. What was I doing? As far as I knew, if they succeeded, I would be let go. But, if they succeeded, the King may have us all put into prison, or... I didn’t want to think of what would be worse.
I looked around again. I spotted the fancy man at a table of men who seemed to be purposely not looking at the head table. He had a smile on his face and was leaning over, talking to one of the men at his side while dangling a tankard from a finger. He was not looking directly at the Head table, but I could see his expression change when the assassin was standing in back of the Prince.
He put the pitcher between the King and the boy Prince. He seemed to be reaching for the tankard of the prince, but I saw his hand go into the wine. And heard another metallic sound. I saw him gripping something as he stood back up and I had to do something.
I stood, the girls around me looking up at me and some cringing away as I pointed my knife at the assassin. I yelled, “Highness!”
I then tried one of the stupidest things I have ever done. I tried to throw the knife.
I did mention that I had been drinking, right? I had thrown knives and those hatchet things at the ren faire a few times, but never well. I had a drunken confidence that took all my sense away.
Luckilly, it hit the pitcher, not the King or the Prince. I swore, making more of the brides around me cringe, some backing away.
I saw the Prince look at me and then at the servant. He saw the knife that was now in the assassins hand and tried to move away. The King pushed on the table, I’m thinking to push his chair away, but tipped the food and dishes and stuff off and onto the floor in front of the raised stage the table was on.
The Prince was on the floor, his chair tipped over, and was crawling backwards away from the assassin. The guards finally reacted and started for the guy, one of the guards having to step over the Prince to get to him.
The assassin looked towards the man he had been working with, who turned away. He even closed his eyes when he did it.
I know that the Prince saw that. I know I saw that. I don’t know if anyone else did.
I saw the assassin change from determined to horrified. The fright he had on his face did not last long, though. He flipped the knife around in his hand and used it on himself. I think the term would be plunged. Like he needed the extra momentum to get the blade all the way into his gut.
I think he died before he was fully collapsed on the stage.
The King pushed his way through the guards and pulled his son up to his feet. “Are you hurt?” The Prince shook his head, the floppy hat landing on the stage, and I think in the blood of the man who tried to kill him. The King turned and pointed at me and before I could do anything, said, very majestically, I must say, “Take her away!”
I lost my legs at that point. I sat as the women beside me scurried away from me. I lost all my energy and saw the guards coming for me. Before I could say anything, I was grabbed and I know all eyes were on me as I struggled in their hands.
As I was taken out, I could hear the Prince say, “You knew this would happen.”
The Kings words were cut off for me when the doors closed, but I did hear, “That was one of many enemies-”
***
I was beaten. I fought back, living up to Tam the Nad Crusher, but there were more of them than there were of me.
After I was beaten, I was dumped in a cell. There was old straw on the floor, a bucket in the corner and mice and fleas. I sat in the straw since I was already a mess. I could not cry. It hurt too much. At least they kept mostly away from my face.
I felt along my ribs and knew that one was cracked, maybe broken all the way through. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. It hurt to not move.
There was a guard in the hall across from my cel. He was sitting, watching my door, but also ignoring everything I was saying.
“Why won’t you tell me anything? I was trying to help! What is going to happen to me?”
I sat there for a while. I don’t know how long. I could hear rain and street sounds of people and horses coming from a small gap near the ceiling. I think it was the only thing like a window the cells had.
After a while, I heard footsteps outside of my cell. The Guard perked up and stood. He didn’t salute, but he had a different attitude.
The prince walked up and looked into the cell. He was dressed in riding gear, a cape over his shoulders. He looked like he had not slept. I know I hadn’t.
He had two men with him. Guards that were wearing blue, not the red. The guard that had been outside of my cell all night stood and went down the hall. The Prince looked at me and I think he expected me to stand.
I tried to. It hurt too much. I was cold and my ribs really hurt. I crawled over to the bars and used them to help me up. I stood, leaning against the bars. I looked down into his eyes and saw the tiredness, but also a little bit of fright.
“I was trying to help you. I over-”
The Prince held up his hand and I shut up. He had my knife in his hand and held it up for me to see. The tip had broken, but I could see that it had gone into the metal pitcher, the stain of the wine going almost an inch up the blade.
“We will get to that presently. First, how did you get ahold of this knife?” He turned it in his hand, not menacingly, just to look at it. “I have never seen one of this quality.”
I looked down for a moment, deciding how to do this. I looked back up and said, “It is from my country. I brought it with me when I started my journey.”
He nodded. “Evasive, but probably truthful.” He sounded like he had had to deal with things like this before.
He looked at me. He looked deep into my eyes. “Second, I saw the assassin look over at the Jejune Ambassador. The guard who reported to me said you had claimed to overhear them talking.”
I winced, and not just from the rib. “I had overheard someone outside my room...”
He did this little scrunch to his nose that was cute, but also looked like he was smelling something off. “You know the language? I’m still learning it and we have had an embassy there all my life.”
I shrugged and regretted it. I had to turn slightly away from him, making the guards shift towards me for a second. I leaned against the bars and said, “He is an ambassador. In my country, he would not, I mean... He can just go back to his country and nothing would happen to him.” I looked over at the boy Prince and knew that it was the same there. “I know many languages, sir. It-”
There was a nasty tone in his voice as he said, “Sir? I may be Prince, but I am not old enough to be knighted, Lady.”
I almost laughed. “How old are you? I am seventeen.” It struck me that I had been old enough to move out of the house, anyway. I closed my eyes tight for a moment and opened them to a pained look on his face.
“I’m fifteen.” He looked down the hall to the red guard and back to me. He brought out a packet wrapped in cloth and pushed it to me through the bars.
“Here. I know they... It is food. I hope it helps.”
I thanked him and held it against me, since I wasn’t about to lean over to put it in the mouse infested straw. I felt the tears and sobs coming up and felt his hand on my shoulder.
“I am going to talk to my Father to see why he’s holding you. I’ll make it all right.”
I nodded, feeling more bruises around my neck from where they had tried to take the torque off. “All I want to do is go home.”
“Where is home?”
I tried to take a deep breath and I couldn’t. I was feeling light headed. “I’m not entirely sure from here.”
I started to really cry. I slid down the rough bars and was kneeling on the stone and straw. I held onto the bars with one hand and the food with the other. I know he was still trying to talk to me, but the pain and the despair that had just gone through me made it kinda jumbled. I don’t think I was very coherent back at him, either.
He knelt on the other side of the cell bars and put his hands on me. He was trying to comfort me, I know. He was like that for a moment and the stood. I heard him lead his guards out. I heard the other guard come back.
I crawled to the other side of the cell and laid down. I held the food to me and cried.
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